Barber Shop Ramblings and the Return of Lazaro
"You have to perform at a consistently higher level than others. That's the mark of a true professional."
- Joe Paterno
It's funny how much I love going to the barber shop. When I was a kid, I absolutely hated it. From the ages of four to eleven, I would go to the barber shop with my dad. I never really liked the job my barber did with my hair, I was always itchy afterwards--which required a hated showed to make the annoying "ithcies" go away--and I'd have to wait 10 minutes of so in the strange, dark waiting room before my dad was finished--he has an enormous head with thick, George Clooney like hair. On top of it, they had magazine at the barber shop with really small print. I remember thinking, "Who reads print this small? Where are the pictures of the dancing bears, and elephants with pink polka dots?"
I'm not sure what happened at eleven, but somehow my mom started taking me to get my hair cut. When you are eleven, doing almost anything in public with your mother isn't cool. My mom could have taken me to get a tattoo at eleven, and I still would have thought she was a hard ass that had no concept of what the world was really like. On top of it, when the barber asked me how I wanted my hair cut she would always answer for me: "He wants it short." It was about as much fun as going shopping with your mother, having to parade out in the department store, and then taking it upon herself to make sure there was plenty of room in the crotch.
When I found Lazaro at V's Barber Shop two years ago, I started to enjoy getting my hair cut. He was the first barber that I can remember being professional and focused, yet personable at the same time. Even though he knew how I was going to get my hair cut--a number 2 on the side and clean up the top--he always made sure I wanted the same thing. He always disinfects his straight edge razor, puts in a brand new blade each time, and does a complete clean up on the back of my neck. He follows it up with a hot towel, and a touch of witch hazel to take the sting out of the shave. Most importantly, his work is consistent: each hair cut is a near replica of the last.
As I have stated before, Lazaro is a native of Mexico. Last year he went back home for a vacation, and was not allowed back into the United States for 6 weeks. Up until yesterday, I thought he was still in Mexico. As it turned out, he was just working at a different location within the franchise. So, I passed on hearing Jerome's explicit stories, and had the pleasure of a signature hair cut from Lazaro.
Upon walking into the barber shop and seeing the man for the first time in several months, a huge smile broke out on my face, and we shook hands. What was interesting was that everyone that saw him yesterday since his departure from the barber shop, had the exact same reaction. It is not uncommon for a trusted barber to become an important, and cherished member of a man's inner circle. A man can go an extended period without having a doctor--I count seven years for myself--but only a few weeks without having a barber.
After my hair cut, I had my shoes shined by a gentleman by the name of Jose. It's obvious that broken English is not the man's first language--he is a native of Mexico as well. Now my Spanish isn't exactly up to snuff, but we had a conversation--some in English, some in Spanish--about how hard it is to understand things in your second language when people talk quickly. It was amazing to see how much of communication really is non-verbal, and how humor and a good spirit can cut through the language barrier.
- Joe Paterno
It's funny how much I love going to the barber shop. When I was a kid, I absolutely hated it. From the ages of four to eleven, I would go to the barber shop with my dad. I never really liked the job my barber did with my hair, I was always itchy afterwards--which required a hated showed to make the annoying "ithcies" go away--and I'd have to wait 10 minutes of so in the strange, dark waiting room before my dad was finished--he has an enormous head with thick, George Clooney like hair. On top of it, they had magazine at the barber shop with really small print. I remember thinking, "Who reads print this small? Where are the pictures of the dancing bears, and elephants with pink polka dots?"
I'm not sure what happened at eleven, but somehow my mom started taking me to get my hair cut. When you are eleven, doing almost anything in public with your mother isn't cool. My mom could have taken me to get a tattoo at eleven, and I still would have thought she was a hard ass that had no concept of what the world was really like. On top of it, when the barber asked me how I wanted my hair cut she would always answer for me: "He wants it short." It was about as much fun as going shopping with your mother, having to parade out in the department store, and then taking it upon herself to make sure there was plenty of room in the crotch.
When I found Lazaro at V's Barber Shop two years ago, I started to enjoy getting my hair cut. He was the first barber that I can remember being professional and focused, yet personable at the same time. Even though he knew how I was going to get my hair cut--a number 2 on the side and clean up the top--he always made sure I wanted the same thing. He always disinfects his straight edge razor, puts in a brand new blade each time, and does a complete clean up on the back of my neck. He follows it up with a hot towel, and a touch of witch hazel to take the sting out of the shave. Most importantly, his work is consistent: each hair cut is a near replica of the last.
As I have stated before, Lazaro is a native of Mexico. Last year he went back home for a vacation, and was not allowed back into the United States for 6 weeks. Up until yesterday, I thought he was still in Mexico. As it turned out, he was just working at a different location within the franchise. So, I passed on hearing Jerome's explicit stories, and had the pleasure of a signature hair cut from Lazaro.
Upon walking into the barber shop and seeing the man for the first time in several months, a huge smile broke out on my face, and we shook hands. What was interesting was that everyone that saw him yesterday since his departure from the barber shop, had the exact same reaction. It is not uncommon for a trusted barber to become an important, and cherished member of a man's inner circle. A man can go an extended period without having a doctor--I count seven years for myself--but only a few weeks without having a barber.
After my hair cut, I had my shoes shined by a gentleman by the name of Jose. It's obvious that broken English is not the man's first language--he is a native of Mexico as well. Now my Spanish isn't exactly up to snuff, but we had a conversation--some in English, some in Spanish--about how hard it is to understand things in your second language when people talk quickly. It was amazing to see how much of communication really is non-verbal, and how humor and a good spirit can cut through the language barrier.
posted by Zen_Accountant at 9:44 AM
2 Comments:
Very nice. I've never put that much thought into getting my hair cut. And I've been known for going a few months rather than a few weeks. It just isn't very important to me. (I say this while sporting a giant mop on my head)
Thanks for bringing back the memories. Going shopping with my mom was EXACTLY how you describe it. I can't tell you how many times I've felt that shame.
MAD
You brought back some memories! I used to love going to with my Dad to get his hair cut. They used to threaten to cut off my ponytails, I'd laugh and then I'd get to go into the candy drawer and pick a lollypop or bazooka joe bubble gum.
Oh - and Matt and I are going to our hairdresser's wedding in June. So yeah - they do become part of your circle.
XO - Luisita
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